


My Man Jeeves

by mydogwatson



Series: The Postcard Tales [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hairy appendage, Large bathtub, M/M, Undercover Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A valet has many duties.  John has a moustache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Man Jeeves

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of fluff, which is nice every so often, right?

John Watson wondered just when his life had turned into a second-rate community theatre farce. He gave an exasperated tug to the heavy tweed waistcoat, primarily to keep himself from touching the ridiculous moustache again to check that it was still in place. He had fought strenuously against wearing the silly thing, but Sherlock had been adamant that Major Eustace St.John [had he actually existed] was the sort of man who would sport such an adornment. Despite that, John had a sneaking suspicion that the detective was laughing at him.

At least he had the consolation of knowing that his partner did not much care for the feel of the damned thing when they had shared one last kiss before embarking on this absurdity. 

Sherlock, of course, enjoyed undercover work, even when it involved dressing up in absurd disguises. John just felt silly.

The door of the sitting room opened and the lord of the manor [a jumped up oil man, according to a disdainful Mycroft] strode in. “Good evening, St.John,” he said in an overly hardy voice. The man was a walking, talking cliché who somehow managed to hold a rather important position in the government. He was also an idiot who did not seem to realise that his much younger wife was an agent in the pay of the Chinese. Hence Mycroft’s interest and why they were here. Sherlock was looking for evidence, while John pretended to be interested in buying a racehorse.

John grunted and rattled the Times, which seemed to be an appropriate response to most of what Lord Henry Wallace said.

“So did you watch Miss Constance on the track this afternoon? A rare beauty, right?”

John remembered to pitch his voice two decibels lower than usual. “Very nice,” he said. “Looks like a champion.” He did not mention that his only talent regarding horseflesh was picking losers at the track. At times it got a bit out of hand and Sherlock would confiscate his chequebook and bankcard.

Wallace looked cheered. “Time to talk price, then?”

John managed to look a bit dismayed, as if the man had violated some social code. “Not before dinner, surely?” he said, standing. “Speaking of which, I best go dress.” 

“Baines said that he saw your man heading for the stairs. Drinks in an hour.” Drinks were an important part of the evenings at the Wallace home, which John knew already from their first evening here.

Carefully still not touching his hairy appendage, John took his leave and climbed up the massive staircase to the third floor. When he opened the door to his room, he found Sherlock [whom he had to keep reminding himself was now called Williams] brushing the hired dinner jacket. He took his duties as a valet very seriously. John just had a hard time believing that people still lived this way.

Sherlock looked at him, one brow arching. “Oh, sir, we will have to hurry a bit to have you dressed and downstairs in time.”

John pulled off the waistcoat with a huff. “Huh, leave off. I have an hour.”

Then Sherlock smiled in a most un-valet like way. “But I thought that Sir might like to have a bath in that over-sized tub. Seems a shame to have it go to waste.”

It was a very large tub, true. John watched as Sherlock carefully hung the jacket. “I wonder if helping me wash is part of your duties,” he said.

“Oh, I have read the rules of valeting most carefully and I think helping my gentleman to bathe is definitely a part of the job description.”

“Well, in that case.” John began to unbutton his shirt, but Sherlock, after starting to fill the tub, stepped closer and took over the job.

Once John was naked and in the tub, Sherlock started pulling off his own clothes with much less care. John watched, amused. “So you’re expected to be naked as well,” he asked. “Is that in the rules?”

Sherlock’s long, lean body slipped into the tub as well and he knelt between John’s legs. “I am very devoted to my work,” he whispered into John’s neck.

“Well, I appreciate that,” John said. “Very much.”

Time was short, so they kept things plain and simple, but it was no less pleasant for that and when it was over, Sherlock lay rather sprawled on top of John, idly tracing one finger up and down his rib cage. “Tonight I will get the evidence against Mrs Wallace,” he murmured. “Tomorrow morning we will leave and take it to Mycroft.”

“And then go home?”

“And then go home.” Sherlock straightened and leaned forward to kiss John once again. Then he made a face. “I hate that thing on your lip,” he said. With that, he climbed out of the tub, providing a very nice view of his arse, and grabbed a towel. “Let’s go catch a spy.”

John grinned.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Title from: My Man Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse


End file.
